Jan 14, 2010
On the death of poet David Franks . . .
Baltimore poet David Franks has died, according to Joe Wall, ”his web guy, collaborator, friend,” writing on Franks’ blog.
Wall solicited and received some comments about Frank onthe site. The comments themselves jump off your computer screen and grab your heart. Imagine hearing the guy who inspired them. Anyone with additional thoughts, recollections, etc., is welcome to add them here.
Here is Franks turning the Baltimore city crime blotter into performance art.
I remember David’s Tugboat Symphony piece. He’d convinced all the Fells Point Tugboat Captains to blast their horns at his direction. He taped it and played it at a readingin Hampden. His poem “Puntang,” at the Red Emma proves memorable. He’d convinced the poet laureate of Nepal to do an oral translation of the poem, and they alternated between English and Nepali. R.I.P. David!
I fell in love with not only his words but their delivery system a long time ago, and then I fell in love with his alphabet soup music, and then I fell in love with his words again. When I need a cry, I listen to “Alice Gaines.” When I need to laugh, I listen to a poem about a penis.
I loved him as well and remember with great fondness a poetry event that David orchestrated at the Fells Point Gallery in I believe the summer of 1975.I was the gallery director and worked very closely with him on this event. It was filmed at the Dead End Saloon because of rain. The poetry was sponsored by Fells Point Gallery an Alumni gallery of… See More MICA. David had a Sword Swallower and Fire Eater at the beginning and end of the performance. Edith Massey of John Waters cast, read original poems about stray cats. A local women Gladys wrote poetry to paintings of creatures that kept her company and David performed in a wheel chair. What an evening and what a memory. All the press were there and a full house enjoyed an evening of delightful absurdity. It may not seem so silly or strange now but in those days David was breaking new grounds. Let us all remember David.
art comes naturally to david franks.
.musical words.
he was my best friend
David Franks, poet.
London. Paris. Baltimore….
I send a rose to you across the veil, David.
I first met David when I interviewed him on the radio at Louisiana Tech in 1984 or 5. He read ‘Susan’ and ‘Excuses’, and made quite an impression on me. He was very drunk that day, with a grad student leading him around, and a long cigarette ash hanging from his ever-present Pall Mall.
Fast forward 10 or 11 years. I was living in DC and here came David. He had looked me up and was living in Baltimore. We had many, many great times together before I moved to Chicago in 2000. Standout memories include his reading of ‘Poontang!’ using a bull horn with a few offended east coast type women exiting during the performance; a staged video of siamese fighting fish being turned loose on each other; helping him record a poem with gunshots in it (I think it was for ‘Frozen Tears’); his bringing a somewhat shell-shocked woman over so we could video her with projections on her nude body; watching him work on the computer portion of the dead letters project and being amazed at his use of pro tools to spell D-E-A-D in audio clips.
We still stayed in touch but I did get to see him more than once or twice after 2000. He was one of a kind and he had a huge heart. He was funny and loving and engaged. I was blessed to have known him and I will miss him.
David was my dad’s (Paul Sharits)best friend. Over the last couple of year’s I seemed to have filled the “paul” void. I spoke to David often. At least once or twice a month. Our last call was in late December. I owed him a return call. Damn. He wasn’t like family. He was family. He was so happy about getting his new apartment in order. He was so frustrated with his email and technology in general. We were trying to settle the logistics of our next visit. I hope he’s having a drink with my dad right now, this very second. I’m devastated. I love you David
I remember David’s installation in the gallery above Margaret’s Cafe. This was the one where he’d taken a passel of scathing letters he’d received over the years from his father, blown them up photographically, shot holes in them with a shotgun and then read the fragmented text into a tape recorder that was playing them on a continuous loop, while the big sheets of acetate were hung around the room like laundry drying in a basement.
He always frightened me a little because he was so unpredictable. David also introduced me to the Jack Micheline, who must have been the last living beat poet.
I knew David when he was tending bar at Bertha’s in Fell’s Point in the mid-70’s. He lived on Thames in a sidewalk apartment which could view moored tugboats and others across the street. Around that time I had sold a story to True Confessions Magazine. When it was published David made me listen to him read it aloud, enjoying every word. He called me a “hack writer” but in an awe-struck way. The video showed the David I remembered: charming, mischievous and vulnerable. He was a very funny guy. I’m sure you’ll be appreciated in your next dimension. RIP David and while you’re there look up my son Marin. Peace.
I love that David is posthumously involved in yet another prank, and so would he:
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/U/US_POE_MYSTERY_VISITOR?SITE=FLTAM&SECTION=US
Wow, I hope David had the sense of how much people loved him.
Byron, I was the shell shocked woman having fish projected onto me. I was just looking up Rob Parrish trying to see if anything or anyone had any record of that work. Maybe Joe Wall?
With David, sensation had it’s fun, and so could we through his self effacements and prankish acts, but always his,and our own vulnerability, I thought, was what was at stake. I trusted that…everything he did could be distilled down to his huge love.
orig posted on poetry in baltimore web site
dave froginbog eberhardt mozela9@comcast.net
david franks memorial- creative alliance- jan 31, 2010
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i’m telling u- was David Franks something else?- and yet- u couldn’t know it at the time- unless- unless- u were specially prescient-
Franks is the kind of poet that was famous after his death
but that was then …..
now?
he was ahead of his time
but- i wonder if there is enuff lov of poetry now to redeem him?- for history? not that it matters to him- he’s dead-
his range- his excellence in many areas- Chris Toll read a poem by him that has never been published- and i think Chris has the only copy and Chris’s own poem, in response was also great
to us who still treasure poetry- what does it matter whether we draw big crowds?
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yet and still- between 50-75 persons gathered at the creative alliance’s patterson theatre today to honor the memory of legendary baltimore performance poet- David Franks- the order of events was: 3-4, Memorial, 4-5, Reception, 5-6+ reading by poets- some 20- curated by David Beaudouin; the event was organised chiefly, as far as i can tell, by Adrianna Amari and Megan Hamilton and the Creative Alliance- along with other of David’s closest friends.
The Memorial: , welcome by Megan Hamilton, video of Franks composition for handbells- thoughts on collaboration- Glenn Moomau, letter from Sen. Mikulski read, letter from Chris Sharits, video of David reading- tENTATIVELY a cONVENIENCE, thoughts from poet Andre Codrescu read, eulogy by Buck Downs, Franks poem- Lorraine Whittlesby, ends w Franks composition of recorded tug boat whistles
the reception was a potluck- with many items brought by the audience- several large cakes read Happy Birthday, David- in that Sat. was Dave’s birthday although he died before that- what day? pin on buttons were avaliable in the shape of red hearts reading “Poet David Franks”
poetry reading- a super job by David Beaudouin: many moving readings-much humor- (befitting David) Mike Lally from D C begins – says ” it pisses me off that now i know David won’t be attending my memorial”——————————————-
other poetsand writers and inspired friends reading: Alpert, Alvarez,Bender, Boyd, Eberhardt, Epstein, Figgs, Fuller, Hamilton, Lang, Mason, Moomau, Royer, Schiavone, Toll, Wall, Zippelli- i know i’ve left some one out- m c’d by David Beaudouin-
some one tells me, you never get a feel for the whole person except in retrspectives like this- more’s the pity-the person of David Franks came to life in this event more than in any similar event i’ve been to
he was a startling poet- like Rimbaud, Patti Smith-a humorous poet, a radical poet
in one poem he mentions his influences- Creeley, Berrigan, O’Hara, – poets who include the chance, include the lost material
my tribute to David:
In the Constellation Eeyore- in mem, david franks
Who are you, who do you think we are?
It’s all so far, so far, so far.
Start in the constellation “Eeyore”- that guide star….
Pin a tail on it- go from there south in the southern sky…
That shadow had not looked that way before,
And since I’m asking why:
Vast forests to the north, bor-
eal taiga, the last time I saw my father,
Spoke to him- I can’t remember now.
There could be meaning, could be some how
Like the overtones to a piano string,
The clouds keep changing now that you mention it.
My pa liked cheese and crackers, that I know.
The forests of the night sky, forests of stars
Where you can go a long way before you meet another.
It’s all so far, so far, so far.
Who are you, who do you think we are?
I am a cousin of David Franks. In fact, it is because of him that I was conceived, so I owe my life to David. The family story is thus: in 1943 when David was born, the war was on and funds were tight. His parents were living in Michigan and could not afford any help. My father, who was very fond of his niece, David’s mother, sent my mother(to-be) on a train from Boston to Detroit. The train was filled with soldiers, some wounded, and my mother refused to take a seat so she stood all the way to Detrot (this is, true or not, the family story). When she arrived in Michigan, she took care of Dorothy, David’s mother and baby David. When Dorothy was stronger, my mother returned home to Massachusetts and told my father that is was really nice taking care of a baby again. I was born 10 months later. So, David, I thank you for a life that has been very rewarding and enjoyable. Alas, the family pretty much lost contact with David. I was saddened to hear of his death alone in an apartment. But I was pleased to read that he had so many friends in Baltimore who thought so well of him that they gave him a wonderful “end-off”. To David’s friends: thank you from his family.
DAVID’S FINAL
It was a semi-sunny day at the Temple Emanuel Cemetery in Lawrence, Massachusetts. It was also Valentine’s day. Somehow,it seemed an appropriate setting to place the urn containing the ashes of David Franks. As you may know, David was a Valentine follower. He always sent an extremely humorous self-made Valentine to his favorite Aunt Marlene.
David’s favorite author, Jack Kerouac, is located in the next city, Lowell, about 10 miles away. Also David’s brother Paul and wife Betsy celebrated their Anniversary on this day.
We were a small but faithful group.David’s special carrier was placed into the ground. The Rabbi, summarized beautifully and correctly the information given to him by Paul and David’s website. Next Paul told us about “David’s World” and how different it was from his own. He never realized how hard David worked and how difficult and scary his life could be. We were then given various sparkling pieces of papers and confetti to place in David’s grave as a remembrance of how he placed those little papers in an envelope that he would mail with the hope that they would spill all over your floor. David loved to be the prankster.
We then exchanged loveable stories about David with Paul, Betsy, Bruce, Larry, Norman, Aunt Marlene, the Rabbi and me.
We next visited his mother Dorothy’s and his father Maury’s grave site.
The compassionate cemetery man waited until we left and then filled up David’s special place in this universe.
David, you were a trip. I knew you in the late ’60’s, early ’70’s at MICA. You came off like an affected spoiled brat. And so curious. You made me laugh and made my soul sing (corny but true). Have a great journey.